


Sillage

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Perfume Porn, Season 2, bedannibalprompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 15:20:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11970126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: The door closes behind her; the aroma of anise spice persists in the air, but Hannibal can only discern its bitterness, all the sweetness has vanished.





	Sillage

The first note that reaches his nostrils is a peppery citrus one. A zesty scent of bergamot, reminding him of a silent crisp air of a warm, summer garden. Unfolding orange blossoms follow, rich and sweet, like a freshly watered grass at dusk. Hannibal opens the door and the smell intensifies, notes interweave with each other in a perfect harmony on the skin of his psychiatrist. Bedelia Du Maurier is a perfect vision, as always; as unique as the first flower of spring, the radiance surrounds her like a golden halo.

Hannibal is too captivated by her unexpected presence to notice her unusually stern expression, until he hears the words leaving her plush lips.

“I am no longer your psychiatrist.”

The sentence shatters the vision enfolding in his mind like a mirror smashing to thousand pieces at his feet. He sees red, but it is not the clear, crimson of his predatory instincts, but blood red, as it begins to spill from a sudden wound inflicted on his heart and throbs heavily under his skull. Eyes blank, he listens to her reason, each word like a sharp dagger widening the laceration in his heart.

He takes a step forward and she takes a step back. The gash bleeds afresh as she withdraws from him further with each passing second. The aroma on her skin intensifies as her pulse quickens. Yet she remains in control and her voice is calm as she holds his gaze. Hannibal wants nothing more than to pull her in his arms and kiss her, swallowing her bitter statements and turning them into honeyed sighs of pleasure. But he doesn’t.

“Please don’t come to my home again.” Her words keep him in place, as she turns away, ready to leave.

He makes a last attempt to keep her around, appealing to her voracious curiosity, but his remark does nothing to change her determined mind. The door closes behind her; the aroma of anise spice persists in the air, but Hannibal can only discern its bitterness, all the sweetness has vanished.

 

He does not expect to find her there, as he enters her home in the quiet hours of the night, easily bypassing her alarm system. Yet he needs proof that she is truly gone.

The house is empty and silent; the only sound disturbing the stillness is the squeaking of his own plastic suit against the floor. Hannibal’s eyes, those of an efficient hunter, scan the surroundings, trying to notice anything out of place.

All the furniture is covered with heavy cloth, a sign of a long absence, but the smell of her still lingers in the air. She must have departed mere hours ago, Hannibal infers as the invigorating aroma of a night blooming jasmine reaches his nose. The sweet note entwines with wild, rooty scent of narcissus. Its earthy tone gives the deserted hallway a feeling of a crypt, one holding the ghosts of their unresolved feelings. Or perhaps of the Acheron, the underworld river, where some of flowers Persephone was gathering fell when Hades abducted her. How appropriate, Hannibal concludes, now that his own Persephone had fled. It was never his plan to snatch her, but he wanted nothing more than a chance to show her the beauty of his underworld in hope that she would stay there with him.

He follows the scent and it grows stronger as  he reaches the familiar threshold of her office. Was she sitting in her usual chair contemplating her decision before she came to say goodbye? He enters the room and the wound in his heart opens anew when he sees what was his safe haven is now deserted and meaningless without her presence.

The pain of abandonment turns to anger in his mind; he will go hunting tonight. A glimmer of light comes through the window and a flash of crystal interrupts Hannibal’s thoughts. His eyes follow the light and rest on the empty chair. A single bottle of perfume rests in the middle of the seat.

The proof he was searching for. Hannibal observes the setting curiously; it is parting gift of an unusual nature, but he would expect nothing less from someone as extraordinary as Bedelia Du Maurier. He takes the bottle and removes the stopper. All the familiar notes fill his nostrils; citrus to start with, followed by florals, but he brushes them all aside in the pursuit of that final note, the one that had always eluded him during their sessions.

Murky scent of oakmoss with spicy accents of cinnamon and cloves overpower all the previous notes, taking over his senses. It is an intoxicating musk and Hannibal takes another deep breath. This is how envisions her most intimate smell. When her hair is spilled on the pillow, her porcelain skin flushed, immaculate breasts rising and falling with each shallow breath and hardened, poppy nipples begging to be touched and kissed.

Hannibal closes his eyes and licks his upper lip. He considers what she tastes like; sharp at first, he imagines, but then sweeter with each stroke of his tongue. She would be the rarest of all delicacies, one he would want to sample over and over again, craving the sweetness, savouring each drop of her ambrosia.

Swallowing a moan, he inhales again. He knows the note is incomplete without her skin upon which the fragrance resides.

Hannibal opens his eyes and smiles. No, this is not a parting gift, but one of a promise. He knows they will meet again and he will get the chance to finally savour that last note.

**Author's Note:**

> Bedelia's perfume isn't based on any real one; it was obviously bespoken, so I decided to play around with the scents, keeping to the usual structure of the fragrance. When I think of season 2, I think of that perfume, so I liked the idea of showing her departure through the progression of notes.
> 
> This is a tiny fic milestone for me: it's my 40th work here. Thank you for staying around! As always, nothing makes me happier than feedback.


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